


WHAT DO WALLS DO?

by WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 04:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo/pseuds/WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Within walls and a war and a rivalry, Ron and Malfoy find themselves as winners and losers and, eventually, lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	WHAT DO WALLS DO?

**Author's Note:**

> AU, includes OCs, contains swear words, graphic sexual description, implied violence and angst. Thanks to [](http://crazyparakiss.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://crazyparakiss.livejournal.com/)**crazyparakiss** for the beta work!
> 
> I wrote this for [](http://ficadron.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ficadron**](http://ficadron.livejournal.com/) in 2010 for Team Ron to the prompt: Walls. I won! I was so nervous, because Team Draco were fielding a note-perfect drabble sequence, which it turned out was written by [](http://hull1984.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://hull1984.livejournal.com/) **hull1984**   (so no surprise that it's so good, then).

**WHAT DO WALLS DO?**

Protect

It was dark, too dark, in the dungeons. Then again, that was why he was here. Ron edged one foot forwards, and then the other. He had tried to cast _Lumos_ , of course, but his wand wouldn't light up. That was probably part of the same problem.

Striding swiftly into total darkness scared him. Prefects probably weren't meant to feel fear. He was on duty; he had a task to do. It would be bad if anyone knew he was afraid.

Of course, it was dark, so nobody was going to see him anyway. They would never know that he had warily stretched out one of his arms and shuffled crabwise until he touched the wall.

Even though he had been expecting it, indeed seeking it, he was surprised by the hard coldness of the stone under his fingertips. A little squeak escaped him and he swallowed it fast. Whoever had done this might not be able to see him, but that didn't mean they couldn't hear him.

He reached the wall and leaned against it. It was reassuringly solid. Hogwarts was on his side. He could get to the bottom of this and sort it out, save the castle and its inhabitants. He was a Prefect; it was his duty.

He slid his palms over the smooth wall, reaching up to find a sconce. He had to investigate why they wouldn't light. Once he had found one and checked it, he felt a lot better. He gleaned confidence from his ability to be rational and thorough. He knew his fingers had covered every inch of iron and had found nothing. He was sure that nobody else would have found anything either. He didn't think even Harry could have found out what was wrong, nor that Hermione could have figured out what was making it so dark. Dumbledore might have spotted a problem. But nobody was expecting Ron to be the equal of the greatest wizard of the age.

He trailed his hand along the comfort of the stone as he walked deeper into the dungeons. He had found a rhythm for his feet, which let him move fairly fast now. He was fine as long as the wall was with him.

Then, suddenly it wasn't. He fell sideways through empty space briefly, then onto something warm and the “Ooof!” which was knocked from his mouth was joined by swearing, which was not his.

Wand light shone white straight into his eyes. At the edge of his blindness he saw fragments of a face: blond hair, a pointy nose. The voice was the clincher, though, nobody else spoke like that:

“What the fuck are you doing here, Weasel?” Malfoy snapped. “Little lions should stay in their tower.”

“I'm on Prefect duty! Point that wand somewhere else.”

“I am the Slytherin Prefect. Anything that happens down here is _my_ business!”

Ron struggled to standing and forced Malfoy's wand down so that it no longer dazzled him, while asking, “How come your wand lights up?” By the time he had asked the question, though, that was no longer his main concern.

He could see where they were now and what was going on. He stared open-mouthed. They were in an alcove and Malfoy was not alone. Ron recognised the boy with him. He was a Slytherin in the year above, he was slim, dark-skinned and handsome, and he was completely naked.

“Do you know Seth?” Malfoy smirked. Ron heard the lip-curl in his voice, but couldn't take his eyes off the naked boy. “Seth, this is Weasel. He's a cunt. And he's just leaving.”

Seth looked right back at Ron and smiled. It was a welcoming smile. He tracked his eyes down and up Ron's body, so Ron felt free to do the same.

“I said you were leaving.” Malfoy's voice was cold.

“I can't,” replied Ron. “I have to find out why it's gone dark.”

Seth laughed: a real, warm, amused laugh.

“Haven't you worked that out yet?” Malfoy hissed contemptuously. “We were hoping to avoid having an audience.”

Ron looked round at Malfoy for the first time. He had seen his white shirt earlier, but now he realised that it was half-unbuttoned and that his pale legs were bare. The tails of the long shirt hid anything interesting, which Ron tried to kid himself that he wouldn't have wanted to see anyway.

“Why do you think I'm the only one who can cast _Lumos_? Because I'm the one controlling this!”

Ron answered Malfoy calmly, “That's fine then. I'll just report back to McGonagall, tell her you'll put it all back to normal, shall I?”

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. “You haven't got the balls.”

“I think I have, ferret-face. I will be writing her a _very_ detailed report and once she's finished reading it, I don't think you'll need to trouble yourself with defining the patrol zones of the Slytherin Prefect anymore.”

“Don't even try it, copper top!”

“She may even feel the need to write to your parents. It is a safety issue, after all. As I just proved, someone could easily fall over with the lights out.”

They stared into each other's eyes, both daring the other one to back down.

Ron finally broke the silence, asking, “Does Daddy know you like boys?”

There was silence in which only their breathing could be heard.

“Does yours?” Malfoy countered.

“I'm not the one tampering with the castle so I can get my end away.”

“What do you want?” the blond snapped.

“I want you kicked out of the school.”

“Look. I'll put the lights back on. We'll agree that you were big and brave and I'll give you twenty galleons. How's that?”

“And potions homework for the rest of the year.”

“The rest of the term.”

“Year. And make it thirty galleons.”

“Draco!” Seth interrupted. “I'm getting cold. Just say yes so we can get on with it!”

Malfoy shrugged. He bared his teeth. Then with a disdainful flick of his wrist the corridor was illuminated.

“Owl me the money!” Ron called over his shoulder as he sauntered away.

He held his head high, feeling brilliant. He had won. Money, no potions homework, something to threaten Malfoy with, and he got to look good! McGonagall would give him House Points. He had won and Malfoy had lost.

As he approached the stairs, though, a low, wet moaning joined the echoing tap of his shoes on the stone. He knew it came from the alcove behind him and it made him feel like he might not have won after all.

Support

Draco Malfoy was not a conscientious Quidditch captain like Potter. There was a limit to the amount of time he was prepared to spend planning set plays and nagging his players to train. He wasn't completely careless, though. He did always turn up an hour before the match to check on the equipment and uniforms.

The store cupboards were behind the changing rooms. As he opened the green door, he noticed that the handle was vibrating. The noise was even clearer when he stood inside. It was a steady rhythm coming from the other side of the wall, from inside the changing rooms.

There shouldn't have been anyone in there yet; he decided to investigate.

It was obvious as soon as he walked in what was causing the noise. The banging was accompanied by panting, grunting and a happy whimper that he recognised. There was a smell, too. It mingled with the wood and stale sweat scent of the changing room.

Seth didn't notice him, his head thrown back and his eyes closed, a flush rising up his neck and across his cheeks. Ron's back was to the room – his long, bare, muscled, golden back. Seth's brown calves were curled round it, feet partly obscuring Draco's view of square, white buttocks.

Draco kidded himself that he didn't want to see them anyway. He backed off silently, trying to ignore the deep grunts, the trickle of sweat sliding down ginger-haired thighs, the whimpers and the mocha-coloured fingernails pressing tiny grooves into freckled skin.

He stalked to the pitch, to count the water bottles. They hadn't started playing yet, but already he felt like he had lost.

Enclose

Order and D.A. members surrounded the dilapidated cottage. It looked deserted, their information had been wrong. Confused, they questioned each other and relaxed just a little, just too much.

The men in the masks came from the dense forest around, stealthily, confidently. The soldiers of the light were surrounded. Hexes flew as the Death Eaters moved in.

Ron turned in a panic, twisting, firing off curses with little sense of direction. Like most of his comrades, the surprise attack had made them forget the plan. Silhouettes and green lights came closer. Suddenly he was upside down in mid air, his screams as useless as his scrabbling limbs.

Thick wire wrapped itself round him as he was dragged through the air into the dark trees where he lost consciousness. He woke with metal against his back. The distant walls and ceiling flickered with reflected red light. There was the contented mumble of many voices punctuated with laughter. He turned his head.

The source of the light was a large fire around which men and women in black robes relaxed. They were in a huge cavern, the rock curving up on all sides, shadows playing across it. There were bars between him and the rest of the place. He was in a cage made of something like steel, fully enclosed on all but one side. He slid up to a crawling position and moved to get a better view of his captors.

There were no surprises amongst the faces, all of them known Death Eaters. Their happiness made Ron nauseous; the battle had clearly gone well for them. Bellatrix was cackling madly – not that she ever did anything in a sane way. “ ... When we take our prize to our master tonight ...” he caught her saying eagerly. He hoped it was the flames, which made her eyes sparkle red.

“Not tonight,” Dolohov replied sleepily. “We can take the prisoner in the morning.” He jerked his head in Ron's direction.

“Tonight we celebrate!” shouted out someone who sounded to be well into the celebration already.

The wire was gone, Ron realised. He pushed back his sleeves, there were only faint red lines on his skin. His wand was gone too, of course.

Greyback growled, “Your boy did well tonight.”

The large, grizzled man was talking to Lucius Malfoy. Draco was here? Ron scanned the faces again and found Malfoy sitting apart from the revellers, looking sick and grey.

His father glowed with pride, though. “Indeed,” he purred.

“He deserves a reward,” Bellatrix said, looking to the far side of the fire, a place Ron couldn't see very well.

The men chuckled.

Bellatrix called over, “Layla, my dear!”

A busty, auburn-haired girl in her late teens moved liquidly towards them. Ron was keen to see Malfoy's reaction to her. He found the blond looking nervously back at him.

“Who's been a big, brave boy, then?” Layla asked throatily.

“We were just saying that young Draco had,” Dolohov supplied.

Layla planted her hands on her curvaceous hips and turned her crimson-painted pout on Malfoy. He shot one last pleading look in Ron's direction. He needn't have worried, Ron wasn't about to spill Malfoy's secret. If his tastes were anything like Ron's (and he knew they were) then Layla would be punishment enough.

Suddenly there was loud music. Drunken singing and laughter, leading to some unsteady dancing, distracted the Death Eaters. It terrified Ron how happy they all were.

He tried not to wonder how many of his friends were dead. He laid his head back against the cold metal, closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his breathing, to quell the churning in his gut. He opened his eyes again to find that someone was watching him.

“Thought you'd be slamming into Layla by now, ferret-face,” Ron called over.

Draco came right up to the bars before hissing, “Shut up, Weasel!”

There was something comforting about slipping into the old patterns of taunt and retort. Calmly, Ron said, “She's got a great rack on her.”

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. “Like Brown, you mean?”

“Ah, poor sweet Lavender. She was so in love with me.”

“So you cheated on her with Seth.”

They both took a quiet moment to think about the handsome boy they had both known in a more comfortable time. Malfoy squatted down so that their heads were level. He no longer looked like the arrogant bully he'd been in school, or the bold Death Eater he was meant to be now; he looked exhausted.

“He's a Half, you know,” he whispered. “I can't find out if he registered or ran.”

Ron swore softly. “What are they going to do to me?” he asked.

“You'll be taken to the Lord in the morning.” Draco sank to a sit and lent against the bars. “I suppose you're waiting to be rescued.”

Ron shook his head.

“You've got an escape plan?”

Ron shrugged.

“I thought you lot always had a way out.” Ron stared into space, but he knew that Draco was staring straight at him. “I think I'll miss you when you're dead.”

“You could let me get out.”

The blood left Malfoy's already pale face. “They'll kill me,” he whispered.

“Just move your arm a little closer to the cage.”

Draco looked towards his father and the other Death Eaters. Then, to Ron's surprise, he stretched out his left arm. With one swift movement, Ron grabbed it and crashed it against the bars, pulled it in between them. Malfoy screamed convincingly. Ron stood, twisting the limb in a way that he hoped looked painful, and pulled Malfoy's wand from his sleeve.

Then he spun, focussing on the meadow behind his parents' house, gripping the arm tightly. As the sensation of Apparition took him, though, he was aware of fabric burning his skin as it was ripped from his fist.

He landed on wet grass alone. He was free, but he brought his empty hands up to his face, feeling like he had failed, aware of what he had lost.

Exclude

“You're mad,” Harry said, but he bent forward and wove his hands together anyway.

Ron didn't answer, just put his hands on his friend's shoulders and his foot in his friend's hands. Between them, they heaved him up to clutching distance of the top of the wall. Harry stepped back as Ron's big, booted feet started to kick out for purchase, whispering “Good luck,” before he Apparated back to headquarters.

His mouth filling with the brick dust he had dislodged, Ron got a firm grip on the railing that ran along the top of the wall. He pulled himself up to squatting behind it and stopped for a breath while he put on the Invisibility cloak, then vaulted the ironwork and dropped into the grounds of Malfoy Manor.

Draco was being punished for Ron's escape and the punishment included House Arrest. That was the Order's information, but that didn't mean much because Intelligence couldn't be trusted any more. Nothing and nobody was trustworthy any more.

Ron could see the lights of the house in the distance. Silently, weaving between bushes and avoiding the soft soil of the flowerbeds where he would leave bootprints, he made his way across the gardens. He looked through the ground floor windows. Most showed empty rooms where antique furniture had been broken and expensive wallpaper shredded or scorched. Music came from one room upstairs, screams from the cellars below.

He nearly missed the small, high window. The area behind it was unlit. Hermione would have advised him to be methodical, though, when she still had her mind, so he peered into the gloom. Shelves filled with boots and riding helmets covered the walls. Sitting hunched on the small, tiled floor area, was the once-proud Slytherin Prince. His pale hair no longer shone, but stuck to his head in dull clumps. The hands that covered his face were decorated with scratches and bruises.

Ron's chest tightened and his eyes prickled. It looked like the spies were right for once. He got the wand out of his pocket - Malfoy's wand. He aimed it at the glass and concentrated. When the pane fell into the room and shattered on the tiles, the forlorn figure on the floor startled, jumped up, and looked about him fearfully.

Ron pulled up enough of the cloak to expose his face. Malfoy looked astonished, but he didn't look afraid. He looked like he might speak. Ron put a finger over his lips. He had probably set off some signal so they had to be quick. They dragged Draco's thin body through the window frame. Both under the cloak, they ran through the grounds and made it over the wall. They held hands. Somehow, once they had touched each other it didn't feel possible to let go.

Ron Apparated them both away and the rush of the journey felt like a win.

Hide

They landed in a grimy alleyway between two buildings in Hogsmeade. Ron took off the cloak and stepped back.

“You're on your own now,” he said.

“I've got no wand and no money!” Draco protested.

“I can't risk taking you to Order Headquarters and I don't trust you round my family.” Ron sighed. “Or them round you.”

They looked at each other for a moment in the moonlight, drinking in the last sight. Panic clutched at Draco. Then Weasley turned and began to walk away, muttering, “You'll sort something out.”

“Wait! Weasel! Ron!” Draco whispered urgently. “Look, you rescued me, I should, uh, thank you, I mean, let me ... try to give you something in return.”

“I was just returning the favour. I'm going to disappear now. Have a nice life.”

“Ron! Let me show my appreciation, I can make you feel good!”

Draco hadn't completed the sentence when the snapping sound of Apparition broke the dusk. He released a sobbing sigh of frustration and headed towards what he knew.

Aberforth took some persuasion. He wasn't happy about the state Draco was in and he didn't want to risk a fight with anyone who might come looking for him. In the end, though, he offered Draco a room at the Hog's Head and a couple of meals a day in exchange for what the pureblood heir couldn't help thinking of as 'House Elf' work. It was work he would have to do by hand until he could afford to replace his wand and, as Aberforth wasn't proposing to pay him money, that would mean finding a second job somewhere. Not that there was a wandmaker left alive anyway.

He washed in a bowl of cold water and sank onto the bed, preparing to face the rest of his life. Moonlight shone in through the thin curtain and he thought of freckled skin in a dark alleyway.

The knock on the door was soft; it made him jump.

“Who's there?” he asked.

“Malfoy, let me in!”

“How do I know it's you?” He did though; he recognised the effect of that voice.

“Oh, shit. How about this, in second year you called Hermione by a dirty name and I tried to make you puke slugs but my wand backfired.”

“Proves nothing. Everyone knows about that.” He opened the door anyway.

They eyed each other, just breathing deeply, drinking in each other's skin again. After a couple of minutes, Draco stepped back to let Ron enter. The tall young man didn't move, though.

“It's slightly warmer in here,” Draco said eventually. “And the goat smell isn't quite as strong.”

Weasley strode right through the small space to the window. Draco closed the door.

Facing the garish wallpaper, Ron said, “I don't want you to do me any favours, ferret.”

“As if I would.”

“I don't want you thanking me or thinking you're paying for something.”

Draco stepped closer. “Then what do you want?”

“I want you to be honest, to tell me, or to ask or something.”

The blond snorted and his lip curled into a ghost of the old sneer. “Malfoys don't beg.”

“Oh for Merlin's sake!” Ron snapped as he spun round. “So I have to do it, do I?”

Four eyes sparkled with fire in the silence. Ron looked away first; he looked over Draco's head.

“Fine!” he ground out. “Draco Malfoy, please will you --”

He never finished the sentence because thin lips covered his. Ron pressed back and immediately his shoulders were shoved against the wall.

Ron put his big hands onto Draco's thin waist. Their chests were hard against each other; their mouths moved wetly, without finesse, tongues touching and tasting everywhere. Draco's fingers slid down from Ron's jaw, over a hard nipple, to the urgent bulge made by Ron's erection. He rubbed firmly twice.

Then Ron pushed him away, saying, “Stop! Wait!”

Draco's heart dropped. It felt like it had stopped. The devastation he felt must have been clear on his face, because Ron took his hands hurriedly and gabbled, “Wait, not stop. I meant wait. Just wait. I have to ask.”

“What?” Draco managed through the thudding in his temples and the dry lump he couldn't swallow.

“Is this just once? I couldn't stop now even if it was. But if it was just this one time then that would break my – I mean it wouldn't be – I'd be sad, I wouldn't like it.”

Draco's slim, pale hand, not as soft as it had once been, covered Ron's mouth.

“It won't be for long,” Draco said, “because traitors never last very long, but for the time I've got left, Ron Weasley, for as long as you want me, I belong to you.”

Words unstated hung in the air unclaimed between them as Draco's mouth replaced his hand. The kiss was gentler this time, more measured, more careful. They stroked each other's bodies while releasing them from their robes. They were slow, sensual and loving with their movements, so the words were not needed. The heat grew the moment their naked cocks touched. Their hips jerked together, skin sliding over skin. Ron's shoulder blades and pelvis pressed against the bedroom wall behind him, Draco's thighs slipped between his and their movements grew frantic.

As his hand shoved into the groove between Ron's buttocks, Draco suddenly remembered Seth. He remembered the boy's dark skin against the pale stone of the dungeon wall, and squashed against the white tiles of the showers, and pressed into the reddish wood of a door. All of their encounters had been rushed and upright. He remembered Ron gripping brown thighs to hold Seth in position on the changing room wall.

Draco opened his eyes to look into Ron's face and found blue eyes staring directly back. He grabbed Ron's hands, which had abruptly stilled, and pulled him to the bed. He pushed him onto the mattress. Draco might not have a wand, a home, money, or a family any more but he did have this. He had the power to shut Ron's eyes and flush his skin, to arch his back and force happy moans from his lips. Ron, who was sick of decisions and responsibility, was happy to let him. He gently eased his fingers inside Ron and sought out the place which would put Ron beyond all self-control.

They made love. The actions and rhythms were similar to those both of them had made before with others, but this was the first time for both of them. It didn't feel the same. Each man lost himself in the other's pleasure. They paid attention to the small noises and movements, and they responded. As Draco thrust repeatedly into Ron, the hot channel clenched round him and Draco stroked his erection.

They kissed and licked, lips pulling on lips, teeth lightly marking skin, tongues dancing against each other. Ron clutched at Draco's back, babbling incoherently, then grunting encouragements, sometimes murmuring endearments and three times screaming with pleasure. Draco just kept telling him how fantastic he looked.

The pace escalated. When Draco felt tense heat begin to tighten in his groin, he tried to slow down, to make this first time last as long as possible, but that made Ron whimper and push back onto him, gripping his arse to pull him further in. So, Draco gave in to the compulsion to slam in hard and deep, pulling fast at Ron's cock to bring them along together.

They came at the same time, sightless and howling. Then they lay together in the dark as the goosebumps flattened on their skin. The musty hotel room faded away. They were two anchorless bodies clasped together in a void, listening to their synchronised breathing and feeling the puffs of warm air against skin still wet with perspiration.

There was only the moon, shining onto their faces, reflecting in four staring eyes. Their circumstances melted into the featureless dark along with the low ceiling, thin carpet and badly papered walls.  



End file.
